


Father's Day, Family, and Fisticuffs

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Family Bonding, Father's Day, Feelings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: There's a flicker ofsomethingon Jason's face before it disappears and he hides behind his mask of sarcasm and sardonic humor. "Wouldn't want the others to see the big bad Bat sitting around eating cookies with the Red Hood, now would ya?"The words sting like they're meant to but Bruce perseveres for once. "I don't know. I think they'd see it more as my son and I sharing a snack and a drink." He strides over to his desk and picks up the package. "Have a drink with me?"





	Father's Day, Family, and Fisticuffs

Bruce tries to pretend Father’s Day doesn’t mean much to him, but everyone knows that’s a bald-faced lie. 

He enjoys every second of his kids trying to spoil him, from breakfast in bed that’s really more like lunch in bed by the time he wakes up after a long night of patrol (made by Stephanie as she’s the only one who makes waffles this good) to the newest masterpiece to hang on the wall in his study from Damian (this year, it includes a subject that is not Titus, but rather a nice landscape done in watercolors).

Tim is usually in charge of dinner (he _can_ cook when he’s not distracted by his phone, tablet, or laptop; it’s Dick’s job to make sure they’re all out of sight so he can focus) with Cass assisting him. Bruce had snuck a peek in the kitchen one time and was equally amused and horrified at how deftly the young woman deboned a chicken under Tim’s direction. Even though Alfred technically has the day off on Father’s Day, he always sits in the wings during any cooking escapades in the event something goes wrong.

And Dick, once he’s done with hiding all of Tim’s electronics, will drag him out of the house for a walk around the massive grounds of the Manor. It’s something they’ve always done on Father’s Day, ever since he came to live there. “It’s the only time I ever see you get any sun, Bruce!” he teases every year. 

It was not entirely untrue. 

This year, Damian accompanies them. He tries to be the little adult he wants so hard to be, carrying on a conversation of what he thinks is important, but when Titus takes off after a squirrel, he runs after him with a loud shout and the façade drops. 

“There’s a real boy under there somewhere,” Dick says with a grin. 

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Bruce agrees as he watches his youngest wave his arms wildly as he lectures his dog about proper behavior. Titus lets it go on for only so long though before he licks his boy in the face and runs off again. The pattern repeats. 

When they return to the house, dinner is ready. Tim and Cass wear proud faces of what they accomplished this year. Damian keeps the snide comments to a minimum while Alfred beams with pride from his seat at the end of the table.

Bruce isn’t allowed to patrol on Father’s Day, so while the others suit up later in the evening, he sits in his study with a rare glass of scotch and a book. Everything is quiet and peaceful, but now that his children are no longer trying to keep him occupied, his attention turns to the one child who wasn’t there today.

Jason. 

The boy of his memories had only been at the Manor for three years, but what years those were. The first Father’s Day card he’d given Bruce was a simple card wishing him happy Father’s Day, but the second card, well, Jason’s personality shone through in it with the snarky but still humorous observation on fatherhood and Bruce. The third card was much the same. 

Then there were no more cards. No more anything from Jason for several years (no more Jason). 

But ever since his return, every Father’s Day there’s been a card laying in wait for him in his room when he finally retires for the night. The first time, he immediately took it down to the Cave and analyzed the daylights out of it before he determined there was nothing more than a piece of cardstock in the envelope. The simple message of “Made ya look!” had him rolling his eyes despite himself. 

So he sits and waits, trying to let enough time pass for Jason to break in and leave his card (trying so hard to resist the urge to run upstairs and peek through his bedroom doors for a glimpse of his son). 

This year, Jason surprises him. 

Bruce barely registers the movement of the study door opening, thinking that it's Alfred coming to check on him when he realizes it’s Jason standing in the doorway. 

He gapes, then snaps his mouth shut at his son’s pleased smirk. 

“Thought I’d switch it up this year,” he drawls as he enters the room and walks to Bruce’s desk. He sets down a small package. “Alfie said the Replacement and ninja-girl didn’t make dessert, so here ya go.” 

“Jason,” Bruce breathes as he stands from his seat in his armchair. He’s capable of being more articulate than this, he knows he is, but words always seem to escape him in times like these, times when he needs them the most.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t put cyanide or anything like that in ‘em. Alfie enjoyed his.” Jason’s smile cuts like a knife.

“I’m sure he did.” Bruce swallows and stops, words disappearing. He tries again. “Would you like to stay and share them with me?” 

There’s a flicker of _something_ on Jason’s face before it disappears and he hides behind his mask of sarcasm and sardonic humor. “Nah, been here long enough as it is. Wouldn’t want the others to home to find the big bad Bat sitting around eating cookies with the Red Hood, now would ya?”

The words sting, just like they’re meant to but Bruce perseveres for once. “I don’t know. I think they’d see it more as me and my son sharing a snack and a drink.” He strides over to his desk and picks up the package. “Have a drink with me?” He can’t help the hopeful tone, the slight lilt that turns the statement into a question.

Jason eyes him warily. This close, Bruce can see the hard lines of his son, the cracks in his carefully constructed persona. Words. Jason’s always been good with them, always had a quip or a cut ready to sling out.

“Please?” he asks, not taking his eyes off his son.

“Fine,” Jason relents, his stiff posture relaxing just a tad.

The next several minutes are clumsily awkward on both their parts, neither knowing quite what to do once Bruce pours a glass of scotch for Jason and opens the package of what are obviously homemade cookies (and almond horns at that; he’s always enjoyed the cookie, especially when dipped in dark chocolate like these are). There’s no small talk, no speaking at all as Jason sits across from him in his well worn jeans and a light t-shirt. Knowing Alfred, he’d taken Jason’s almost trademark leather jacket and hung it up somewhere when he arrived. 

For something to do, he opens the card that was tucked in with the cookies. 

The front reminds him more of a get well soon card or something vaguely religious.

_Now that we’re both getting older, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you…_  

Knowing Jason though, the zinger is on the inside. 

He doesn’t disappoint. 

_I can totally take you in a fist fight. I’m coming for you, old man._

Bruce raises his eyes to meet Jason’s amused gaze. “Anytime, any place.” 

Jason’s grin is all the answer he needs as the young man finishes his scotch. “The Cave’s empty right now.” 

His own glass is drained fast and Bruce stands. “It is,” he agrees. “Let’s go.” 

It's an even fight. Bruce doesn't hold back because he knows Jason would be able to tell (and hate him for doing it). Jason throws his everything into it. He's more skilled than Bruce remembers but it also could be that he's fighting more calmly, rationally, than he has before. The young man is at the top of his game and knows it.

It fills Bruce with pride to see such a display, but it also reminds him that he wasn't the one to teach him this. There's always a double edged sword with Jason.

Later on as Alfred patches up the gash on the side of his face and tuts about the ice pack he insists Bruce use on his bruised jaw, he thinks back over the day and decides this was the best day he’s had in a long time.

Across from him on another medical gurney, Jason sits with his own ice pack over his right eye and grins brightly, just like he had when he’d been Robin and sitting there while Alfred fusses over both of them after a night on patrol.

_Yes…this is the best Father’s Day I’ve ever had._

**Author's Note:**

> I could do a whole new drabble series based on greeting cards...


End file.
